


I'm not your hero but that doesn't mean we're not one and the same

by Shadowcrawler



Category: Firefly, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Female Friendship, Gen, Mentors, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-13
Updated: 2013-04-13
Packaged: 2017-12-08 08:35:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/759324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowcrawler/pseuds/Shadowcrawler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is her new mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm not your hero but that doesn't mean we're not one and the same

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a discussion I had with a friend about a Widow vs. River fight, which I didn't like the idea of as much as them being friends and having a mentor/student bond. After I drew him a picture of them sparring as a gift, I liked the idea enough to want to play with it some more, but I was too lazy to draw another picture, so I tinkered with this for a couple of months instead. I hope Natasha isn't wildly OOC; I admit I haven't written her much.
> 
> I was also sort of deliberately vague about how River and Simon got to Avengers-verse, exactly, because I'm a lazy ass. Basically Simon's in training to be a SHIELD agent and he brought River along. 
> 
> Bonus points if you can spot the (not terribly camouflaged) reference to another of Summer Glau's shows.

Natasha's kept an eye on the girl from the day she first appeared. She slips catlike in and out of rooms, always keeping herself on the edge of them, her footsteps silent but deliberate. Dancer's steps. 

River, they call her. If Natasha had been her mother – she pushes that thought down almost before it's finished – well, it might've been better to call her Shadow, in Natasha's opinion. She haunts every corner of the Helicarrier, watching with huge brown eyes. She doesn't seem frightened, not exactly. Cautious, that's a better word. Assessing everything and everyone, letting nothing slip by her. Old habits die hard, Natasha knows, and she files her observations away in the back of her mind.

\---

Usually she permits no one to be in the room during her daily training session. She might be able to filter out distractions while she’s on mission, but not during this part of her routine. This time is for her mind and body alone. 

But when she catches a wisp of dark hair out of the corner of her eye and senses someone watching her, she ignores the interruption and continues to whale on the punching bag. She refuses to lose focus in the last leg of her workout. 

Only after she’s finished (three rounds with the bag, two minutes each, with short breaks, during which she doesn’t look at the girl at all) does she allow herself to meet River’s gaze. Most people, when faced with even the tamest of Natasha’s glares, retreat immediately, or at least flinch. But there’s no sign of such submission from River. She just stares back, not blinking. 

After a long silence, during which neither moves, River says, “You have so much control.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue. 

“I need…” The girl pauses, tilts her head, measuring her words, maybe. “I need to be trained. Need to learn control. Like you.”

A laugh bursts out of Natasha, one that takes her by surprise. “You don’t want my kind of control.”

“I need it.” The girl still hasn’t looked away, or blinked. “We aren’t so different. Weapons with beating hearts, minds with too much in them. Men with coats and needles making playgrounds of our memories.”

Natasha refuses to let herself feel uncomfortable, but something begins to tug at the back of her mind. When she turns to leave, she can feel River staring after her.

\---

SHIELD records are some of the most secure on the planet – or so Fury would like to think. To be fair, he probably hadn’t counted on a bored Tony Stark hacking the database as an April Fool’s prank. And when Natasha wanted them, it was a simple matter of “acquiring” the access codes from Stark. Threats are a powerful thing, but sometimes an unspoken understanding can be even more powerful.

Most of them Natasha skims; it’s important to collect information, but over half of the database involves the lower-clearance field agents and grunt workers. Someone might have the time to read the entire history of Agent James August Ellison, but not several thousand Ellisons (though at least that file had two intriguing but vague paragraphs on his former FBI job). Certainly Natasha has more important things to do. She carefully reads her teammate’s files, and those of the higher-ups and anyone marked a high-level threat, and treats the rest as bedtime reading. If nothing else, the painfully dull ones act as a drug-free sleep aid.

New files are added on average every few weeks, and Natasha doesn’t pay much attention; she’ll get to them eventually. But now she opens the records and scans until she finds the one labeled TAM, RIVER. The girl and her brother might only have boarded the Helicarrier during their last landing two weeks ago, but Fury had his lackeys investigate the tiniest details of her history anyway. That mostly seemed to involve interviewing Simon, her brother (whose file was far less interesting), as far as Natasha can tell. 

Natasha reads every word of this file as if she’ll be expected to recite it later. After she finishes, she looks up at the clock. An hour has passed. Her stomach scolds her for neglecting lunch.

\---

River is there when Natasha enters the training room the next day. “Now you know,” she says, looking Natasha square in the eye. “Not so different.”

Natasha nods, waiting for her to continue. 

“Please.” The girl’s voice is halting, light on emotion, but Natasha can see the desperate glint in her eyes. “Teach me.”

Something in Natasha’s heart stirs. “All right,” she says. “We’ll start today. Come, little тень.”

River laughs. The sound is unexpected, lovely. She replies “Thank you, sister” in Natasha’s mother tongue, and Natasha is pleased that the girl’s file didn’t lie about her fluency in Russian. She takes her new charge in search of a proper uniform. 

\---

At first it is a duty, something to keep the guilt that would otherwise rear up in her mind at bay, filed away with all the old guilt. If she doesn’t train the girl, who will? It makes logical sense, she admits – their histories are eerily similar, their unique skills not so different. Besides, even the idea of anyone else trying to get involved irritates her, sends something hot and red and dangerous flaring up inside her. Who among these agents, who live in the world of SHIELD but know so little of how it truly works, could hope to understand or challenge River the way Natasha can? No, it must be her. This girl came to her for help; this is her new mission.

It’s nice to have a sparring partner on her level too. Clint can keep up with her, but after so long together they know each other’s styles almost as well as they know their own and there’s little they can do to surprise each other. River’s fighting style is a bit haphazard, in need of development and fine-tuning, but it’s something different that Natasha has to adapt to. And her strange intuition, only briefly mentioned in her file – how she seems sometimes to know Natasha’s next move the instant she herself does…that’s something entirely new. 

As for the girl herself – well, Natasha likes her. She’s clever and a quick learner, and unafraid in the way that Natasha was at her age. She also doesn’t talk much. Where others try and fill silences, River seems to find comfort in them. Just once, she says to Natasha, “Thank you for being so quiet.” Natasha nods her acknowledgement and offers a small smile, which River returns. They’re both rusty at this, but getting better every day. 

During the first week, River disappears after their sessions. She doesn’t volunteer information about where she goes during the day, and Natasha doesn’t pry. But then, abruptly, she begins to follow Natasha around instead. The first time Natasha looks back and sees the girl trailing behind her, she chuckles and says, “I guess I picked a good name for you, eh, тень? Come on, walk beside me.” River smiles. 

Nobody bothers them, though Natasha can feel the stares. People stare at her already, and they stare at River too, so it follows that when they walk together there’s twice as much staring. Nervous whispering, too; speculations about why and how and for what purpose the strange girl trails behind the Widow. She shrugs it off. Let them wonder. 

\---

She sees, too, the anxiety on River’s brother’s face when he watches them together. The first time starts with a jittery knock on the door to Natasha’s room while they’re relaxing one afternoon (Natasha at her desk working on a recent mission report, and River lounging on her bed with a volume of Russian poetry she filched from Natasha’s bookshelf). When Natasha opens the door, a rumpled-looking but impeccably dressed young man is standing there, his eyes wide and deerlike. “Excuse me, have you seen—River!” His entire body relaxes, a puppet with its strings let slack. “I’ve been looking for you for an hour! Why didn’t you leave a note when you left your room? I had no idea how to find you!” 

She rolls her eyes and walks over to him. He grabs her arm gently, looking her over as if to make sure she’s unhurt. More parent than brother, Natasha thinks. “Simple Simon,” River says, gently tugging her arm out of his grip and speaking slowly, as if he’s the child here. “I’m all right. I’ve been all right for a while now. Don’t need you or anyone looking out for me anymore. Stop worrying about me.”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair and causing it to look a bit like some type of animal has come along and licked his head. “I’m sorry, it’s just, I got so used to it, it’s a habit now…” Then his eyes flick over to Natasha, who’s been watching the proceedings and trying to hide her amusement. “Hello,” he says, offering his hand. “Please excuse my rudeness. I’m her brother, er, guardian, I suppose. Thank you for, ah, looking after her. I hope she hasn’t been any trouble to you, I’d imagine you have more important things to do with your time than look after a teenage girl. You’re an agent?” 

“Yes. Natasha Romanov, though you probably know me by the codename Black Widow. Your sister and I have been training together. She’s quite a prodigy.” River tosses her head and smirks at the compliment. 

Simon laughs, or barks maybe. “She is. But…this isn’t anywhere near the training area, is it? I just prefer to know where she is, if I can.”

“Simon.” River sounds stern. The frown on her pretty face is almost comically out-of-place. “Stop worrying. Everything is fine. I’m safe here with Natasha. We have a mutually beneficial relationship and I’ll thank you not to interfere.”

Natasha’s not the type to laugh out loud often, but she almost does now. At the last second she manages to duck her head to hide the smile. Though, when she catches a glimpse of Simon’s face – comically wide eyes and mouth perfectly round, like a cartoon’s – she almost loses her composure again. 

From then on, Simon leaves them be, though she catches him staring at her now and then. It’s the same look she’s seen feral tomcats give each other: trying to size up how much of a threat the other one is. Sometimes when she notices these looks she smiles to try and reassure him, and sometimes she decides it’s not worth it. She never mentions these moments to River.

\---

Clint cuts right to the chase, though. “Nat, I don’t get it,” he says quietly over lunch one day. “I’ve never seen you like this before. Especially not with a kid. It’s weird. Are you under some kind of mind-control or something?”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s nothing you should be concerned about, Barton. She asked me to train her. That’s what I’m doing.”

“By letting her follow you everywhere like a lost kitten?”

“Like you never do that,” she quips, which shuts him up for a minute. Then she glances over at the girl, who’s sitting a few seats away. She’s taking small, shallow sips from a bowl of tomato soup, and her eyes are closed like she’s trying to savor it. “She’s a good kid, Clint. Smart, quick on her feet, fearless in a fight. She reminds me of—” She pauses, coughs once. “Well, she’ll be a hell of an asset, if she’s interested later. Fury should thank me, I’m just developing the potential.”

Clint’s face flickers, like he suddenly understands, and he nods. “Fair enough, I guess. I still think it’s weird, you giving her a nickname and bringing her everywhere. Never figured you for a pet kind of person.” He has the brains not to react with more than a grunt-laugh when she cuffs him in the ribs. 

\---

Others are less willing to accept River’s constant presence.

“Okay, so at what point did you travel back in time and rescue a scrawnier, freakier version of yourself, and why weren’t we informed about it before now? This is really unsettling and I want to not be looking at it.” Tony barely flinches when Natasha directs what she thinks is a particularly nasty look at him and continues, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s kind of charming in an utterly terrifying way, but I just wanna know why she gets to bring _her_ special pet in here during what’s supposed to be a super secret team meeting.” This last sentence is directed at Nick Fury, who looks as if he’d rather be dangling headfirst over a pit of live alligators than having this conversation. Natasha doesn’t blame him. But she refrains from expressing her distaste at Tony’s “pet” comment, aside from rolling her eyes.

“Stark.” Fury’s tone is sharp. “I don’t see why this is your concern. Your concern should be reviewing parameters for this damn press tour, which you were supposed to be doing over the last two days.”

Tony raises his eyebrows and makes his mouth into a perfect o, placing his hand on his chest to feign taking offense. “So little faith in me, Fury. You assume I didn’t read through the entire packet the evening it showed up at my door. I can recite it to you if you’d like. Maybe do a bit of theater. I was almost in a college production of _Hamlet_ once, except I slept through it.”

To Fury’s credit, he’s very composed. If you didn’t know him well enough, you might not think he was angry at all. But Natasha _does_ know him well enough to see the creases in his forehead that mean he’s about thirty seconds from unceremoniously launching Tony out the airlock. When he does answer, it’s after a very long moment of silence and through gritted teeth. “Stark, what I’d most like is for you to keep your damn mouth shut for the rest of this meeting.”

Tony’s mouth opens as if he’s about to make another smartass comment, but then Natasha hears a new voice enter the conversation. “Natasha and I aren’t lovers, Mr. Stark.” River’s tone is matter-of-fact, as if she’s stating the weather, and she looks right at Tony, barely blinking. “And even if we were, neither one of us would be interested in having sex with you. Please understand that continuing to entertain such fantasies will only end in disappointment. Your sexual prowess, though impressive for a man of your age, is unlikely to be as satisfactory as that of another woman. And no, you couldn’t watch us have sex either. I suspect Pepper Potts would object to all of these hypothetical scenarios.”

The room goes silent. The rest of the team, and the few high-ranking agents in the room, are either staring in astonishment at River or trying to hide their laughter. Even Fury looks amused at how caught off guard Tony seems to be. A myriad of emotions flash across Tony’s face, from confusion to unease to – could that be a hint of _embarrassment_? Perhaps not; one would think it would take more than a semi-public airing of Tony’s personal fantasies to embarrass him. But then, he’s probably not used to having a psychic being the one to air them, either. 

Natasha hadn’t been entirely convinced about River’s abilities before now, even with the hints from her file and her uncanny way of predicting Natasha’s moves in combat. But factoring this into it, River being psychic is the only explanation that makes sense. She files it neatly away in her brain in the same section as her acceptance of the Chitauri and the Tesseract. This world becomes stranger every day, and all she can do is adapt to is as best she can.

\---

Most people are simple, easily understood. Natasha finds comfort in the general predictability of humanity. River, though…River is anything but predictable. 

This is brought to Natasha’s attention often, and never more abruptly than late one evening when she opens the door to her bedroom and sees River curled up in her bed like a housecat. Her breaths are deep and slow and her face is completely relaxed, as Natasha’s rarely seen it.

Natasha pauses for a moment in the doorway, assessing the situation. Then she steps lightly into the room. Her nighttime routine is always a quiet affair, but tonight she’s even more careful, so as not to disturb the sleeping girl. Finally, having cleaned her face of makeup and dressed in a satin nightdress and boyshorts, she pads over to the bed. She slips under the cool sheets with the quick silence of one who’s trained to give no sign of her presence.

“I hope you don’t mind my being here.” The voice takes Natasha by surprise, but she merely turns to see River sitting up, looking at her. “It’s a big ship. Gets lonely at night.”

“Not at all, тень.” Natasha smiles, and adds in Russian, “You are always welcome here.” She leans over slightly, brushing her fingers against River’s cheek. “I’m sorry I woke you.” 

“Meant to wake up,” murmurs River, sliding over so her body touches Natasha’s. “Was waiting for you.” 

Natasha raises her eyebrows, but allows River to burrow in next to her as they lie back down together. The girl takes a minute to stretch out on the too-large bed, limbs almost too long to be believed, and then curls up against Natasha. For a moment Natasha stiffens (it’s been a while since she’s had a bedmate, and never in this context) but then she rolls onto her side so they’re face-to-face. After waiting a bit to be sure River’s asleep, Natasha leans down and presses a light kiss to her forehead. Then she rests her arm so it’s draped across River’s waist – this is as close to snuggling as Natasha ever gets – and closes her eyes to sleep.

If people see River slipping into Natasha’s room some evenings, they never mention it. Maybe it’s out of fear, or respect. Either way, Natasha is glad of it. Those evenings are their time, a routine to settle them both after taking everything that the day throws at them. And if they’ve started to hold onto each other a little more tightly, well, no one else has to know about that.

**Author's Note:**

> тень is Russian for "shadow." I mostly just thought Natasha giving River a nickname was a cute idea.


End file.
